Christmas Evans, the Preacher of Wild Wales: His country, his times, and his contemporariesHood, Edwin Paxton
History
Christmas Evans, the Preacher of Wild Wales: His country, his times, and his contemporaries
Hood, Edwin Paxton
Evans, Christmas, 1766-1838
There is a pleasant anecdote told of one of them, Gryffyth of Caernarvon,
how he had to preach one night. Before preaching, staying at a farmhouse
on the spot, he desired permission to retire before the service began; he
remained in his room a considerable time; the congregation had assembled,
still he did not come; there was no sign of his making his appearance.
The good man of the house sent the servant to request him to come, as the
people had been for some time assembled and waiting. Approaching the
room she heard, what seemed to her to be a conversation, going on between
two persons, in a subdued tone of voice, and she caught from Mr. Gryffyth
the expression, “_I_ will not go unless _you_ come with me.” She went
back to her master, and said, “I do not think Mr. Gryffyth will come
to-night; there is some one with him, and he is telling him that he will
not come unless the other will come too; but I did not hear the other
reply, so I think Mr. Gryffyth will not come to-night.”
“Yes, yes,” said the farmer, “_he_ will come, and I warrant the _other_
will come too, if matters are as you say between them; but we had better
begin singing and reading until the _two_ do come.” And the story goes
on to say that Mr. Gryffyth did come, and the other One with him, for
they had a very extraordinary meeting that night, and the whole
neighbourhood was stirred by it and numbers were changed and converted.
It was Williams of Wern who used to tell this pleasing anecdote; it is an
anecdote of one man, but, so far as we have been able to see, it
illustrates the way in which they all prepared themselves before they
began to speak.
It must not be supposed from this that they imagined that prayer was to
dispense with preparation; their great preachers studied hard and deeply,
and Williams of Wern, one of the greatest of them all, says, “In order to
be a good preacher, usefulness must be the grand aim, usefulness must
choose the text and divide it, usefulness must compose the sermon and sit
at the helm during the delivery; if the introduction be not clear and
pertinent it is evident the preacher does not know whither he is going,
and if the inferences are of the same character, it is obvious he does
not know where he has been. Unstudied sermons are not worth hearing or
having; who would trust his life in the hands of a physician who had
never thought of his profession?” But these men never permitted the
understanding to supersede emotion, and, when they met the people face to
face, the greatest of them went prepared, warmed and kindled, and ready
to warm and kindle.
Thus their sermons became a sort of inspired song, full of
imagination—imagination very often, and usually, deriving its imagery
from no far-off and recondite allusions, never losing itself in a flowery
wilderness of expressions, but homely illustrations, ministered to by the
things and affairs of ordinary life, and, therefore, instantly preacher
and people in emotion were one.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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